Pillars of Fire
by L. Burke
Summary: Brotherhood AU. Questioning his place in the Brotherhood, during a medical crisis for Dean, John Winchester remembers back on leaving Lawrence.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Pillars of Fire

By: L. Burke

Disclaimer: I own nothing, but some really bad jokes.

Summary: Questioning his place in the Brotherhood, during a medical crisis for Dean, John Winchester remembers back on leaving Lawrence.

Timeline: Brotherhood AU- Takes place after and deals with events in Tidia's story "Rights of Passage". It also references Rid's story where was stated Dean's allergic to penicillin.

**Warnings: **This story will mention and reference events of WWII and the Holocaust. It also contains some culturally sensitive words and themes. It also has religious references.

Acknowledgements: This story is my Beta's fault. She asked me to write a story that explains why John Winchester doesn't get in to Christmas and not make him a bastard.

**Author's Notes for Chapter One**:

Challenge Coins and the Coin Check Game- The coin challenge game mentioned in this story is a military tradition. Its reported roots go back to WWII where, by legend, a rich Army Air Service commander commissioned special medallions made for every member of his squadron. One of the pilots in the squadron was later shot down behind enemy lines and the German confiscated all his forms of ID except for the 'Coin'. The American pilot escaped his captors and made contact with a French patrol. He used his 'coin' to prove his identity and prevent the French from executing him as a German saboteur.

It later became tradition in the various branches of the US military to celebrate major events in a military career, like graduating from boot camp, by presenting the service member a coin. Commanders would also present them as way of saying 'good job' for a duty well done. From that the 'Coin Challenge' game mentioned in this story evolved in the jungles of Vietnam and is still very popular today.

--888--

**Pillars of Fire**

_The LORD went in front of them in a pillar of cloud by day, to lead them along the way, and in a pillar of fire by night, to give them light, so that they might travel by day and by night. __Exodus 13:21,22._

"Junior, will you stop pacing and looking out the damned window." John Winchester snarled from couch. He had had his cast foot propped up on a pillow on the coffee table. "They're both fine, and you're driving me batty."

Caleb Reaves watched the snow fall steadily outside. He was _not _worrying. "Jim and Dean should be back from the doctor's by now."

"Relax. Jim drives like a granny on a good day." John informed him as he tried to angle and find a comfortable position on the sofa for his broken right foot. "God damn turn-of-the-century craftsmanship and three-inch, solid oak doors anyway."

"The snow is really coming down outside."

"Junior, step away from that window," John replied matter-of-fact. "Or so help me, I'm getting up and kicking your ass."

Caleb turned from the window and shot John an amused look. "You'd have to catch me. Besides, you get up off the sofa and you forfeit your challenge coin to Dean. You're stuck on that couch until the doctor clears a walking cast."

John's dark eyes flashed. "Dean took unfair advantage of the situation. It was use of a challenge coin with Jim-like, Machiavellian intent. I need to stop letting the two of them play together."

Caleb smirked at the injured man on the couch. He'd bet John was regretting teaching Dean the rules of the old military coin challenge game. "You know coin check rules. Any time, any place. You lost. Dean won. Now you must suffer through Dean's appointed sofa detail."

John crossed his arms over his chest. "Easy for you to say, you haven't been stuck on this lumpy thing for an entire week. My own son ambushed me."

Caleb walked from the window and plunked in to a chair next to the couch. "And it was a beautiful thing. Stop complaining. Dean did it because he was worried about you and wanted your foot checked out."

John glared. "My foot is fine."

Caleb rolled his eyes. "Your foot is broken in three places. You still can't even put weight on it."

"I've had worse." John stated in a tone that left no room for argument. "Have you started the book I gave you to read?"

It was Caleb's turn to shoot his mentor a dirty look. "Why are you forcing me to read Primo Levi's '_If Not Now, When_?"

_"If I am not for myself, who will be? And when I am for myself, what am 'I'? And if not now, when?"_ John simply replied. "I'm bored. Making you read a classic shuts your father up. And finding new ways to torment you makes me happy. It's all win-win for me."

Caleb smiled. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to try using a wheelchair for a while, Johnny? I could park you on top of the stairs and forget to set the hand break."

"Dad, are we Irish?" Four year-old Samuel Winchester looked up from the coffee table and four-leaf clover he was cutting out of green construction paper.

"Yes," John Winchester huffed. "Didn't we already go over this, Kiddo? Half. On your mother's side."

"But you're not Irish."

"Correct." John replied.

"Is Santa Irish?"

John took a deep breath. You could tell the oldest Winchester was drawing on a deep reserve of patience, especially when it came to the subject of 'The Claus'. Everyone agreed Sammy had to let it go sooner or later. "I have no idea if the big guy wears green on St. Paddy's Day or not."

"Would Pastor Jim know? He's Irish. " Sammy gave his father a hopeful look, "Did Grandma make green frosted cupcakes for St. Patrick's Day like Pastor Jim does?"

"I don't know." John sounded exasperated. You could tell he was silently cursing Jim's neighbor a few miles down the road that hadn't taken his Christmas lights down yet. "My mom didn't. She was Italian."

"Did she tell you to always leave the gun and take the Cannoli," Caleb asked innocently.

"Keep it up, Junior".

"What's an Italian?" Sammy asked.

"That's what people from Italy are called." John informed him.

"Why don't Italians make cupcakes for St. Patrick's Day?"

"Because they feel strongly it's much more of an Irish mob thing, Runt," Caleb replied to Sammy gleefully.

"Because," John growled and glared at his protégé, "The Italians were too busy doing things like building Rome or helping launch the Renaissance."

"But the Italians didn't make cupcakes for St. Patrick's Day." Sammy didn't sound impressed.

John shot a look to the heavens that said 'Help me'. "My mother could make a mean Minestra di Riso per Pesach."

Sammy stopped working on his clover. "Pesach? What's that?"

"It's the Passover holiday." John sighed.

Caleb stared. "You're Jewish?"

"My mother's family was." John stated matter of fact.

"What's Jewish?" Sammy asked.

"Oh, why did I have to bust my driving foot?" John pinched the bridge of his nose. "God, I need a cigarette. Ask Jim when he gets home, Sammy. He'll be able to explain it much better than I could."

"Okay, I'll ask Pastor Jim," Sammy nodded. Then he looked at his father innocently, "Can we make cupcakes?"

John shot his youngest a scathing look. "You just don't quit do you, Kiddo?"

"Hello," Jim Murphy's voice called from the kitchen. "We're home."

"Well?" John demanded, "What was the Doc's verdict?"

"Exactly what we suspected, Dean has tonsillitis," Jim informed them as he walked in to the living room. The pastor took off his coat, and hung it up. Dean was following behind. "We needed to stop and get a prescription for penicillin filled on the way home."

"I told ya, Dean. You needed to go see the doctor." Sam gloated happily.

"Yup, could tell by the snoring, Deuce," Caleb chimed in.

Sammy nodded. "It sounds like a freight train."

Caleb nodded. "It was keeping us awake."

Dean glared at both of them. Then he croaked out, "At this moment I feel so cherished. Just keep in mind Damien, I have pictures of you holding Jenny Richardson's purse at the mall."

"Purse?" John asked. He perked up with sudden interest. "You have pictures of Junior holding a purse?"

Dean nodded. "A nice, big, pink, glittery one."

John smiled maliciously at Caleb. "The lengths you'll go to for a girl with a large rack, huh, Junior?" Then he happily announced to Dean, "We can negotiate later."

Dean looked at Caleb and smirked. "We already have several interested parties lined-up. One prospective buyer even mentioned the words 'Christmas Cards' and 'Slide Show'."

"You do realize? I'm going to get you." Caleb stated to Dean pleasantly. Then he glared at Sammy "And your little blackmail, collaborator too."

Sammy smiled back and shrugged. "The money was good. And Dean promised me cookies."

"How did everything go while we were gone?" Jim asked, ignoring the exchange. He knelt down and helped Dean out of his coat.

"The three of us bonded over warm, fuzzy baby chicks and rainbows," John replied sarcastically. "It's official. Dean is now my favorite."

"You're ability to nurture relationships, John," Jim replied, "Never ceases to inspire me."

"Don't I know it," John fired back. "We keep up all this touchy-feely crap up. I'll be featured crying on Oprah next. I need a smoke. Where did you hide my cigarettes?"

Jim rolled his eyes. "You don't give-up do you? Think of this as you embracing an opportunity to give up your deadly, filthy nicotine habit. Quitting will add years to your life."

John scowled. "They're the diaper wearing, nursing home years. I don't want 'um."

Jim smiled, and handed John a bag. "Too bad. I bought you gum."

"I'm all chewy with anticipation," John responded dryly.

"Pastor Jim," Sammy spoke up, "Is Santa Irish?"

"Please, not Santa again," Dean muttered as he handed Jim his coat to hang up.

Jim shot Sammy an unruffled look. "I really don't know, Samuel. I'd like to think he wears a wee bit of the green. He's a 'right jolly, old elf' after all."

John snorted. "If I smoked and ate like Santa does, I'd be a jolly, old, fat elf too."

"John," the pastor warned.

Sammy watched as his father moved over to make a spot for Dean to sit down. "Pastor Jim, could we have cupcakes for dinner?"

Jim pretended to think about it as he took the spare chair by the fire. "I suppose we could. However, what would you suggest we serve Dean? He has a very sore throat and he's not feeling very well."

"We could always have kid stew," John threw out innocently.

"You can't eat me." Sammy gave his father a very confident look.

John's dark eyes sparkled with amusement. He pulled Dean in a little closer to check the boy's temperature. "Oh really? Now, why would you say that?"

With utmost certainly Sammy replied, "Because Dean won't let you. And every one knows that in the wild the lame animals get eaten first."

"You'd eat your own father?" John pretended to look shocked.

"Well," Sammy said thoughtfully. "I'd have to be really, really hungry."

Caleb choked down his laughter. "Don't worry, Runt. I'll help you hold your old man down."

"Babies are such a cute way of starting people" John grumbled. "It's how nature lures unsuspecting idiots in."

"Oh Samuel, you just made this old man's night," Jim stated as he wiped tears of glee from his eyes. "But your father was teasing and meant goat when he suggested 'kid'. A baby goat is called a 'kid'."

"Oh." Sammy nibbled on his lower lip for a few moments. "Could we make chicken-noodle soup for Dean? It always makes me feel better when I'm sick."

"That's an excellent idea, Samuel. That way Dean can eat before he takes his medicine." Jim leaned in closer to Sammy. "But we have a problem. We can't make soup without hot, home-made bread to go with it. Don't you agree?"

Sammy nodded.

"Well there's our quandary," Jim replied. "We can't make both bread and cupcakes, and we can't make chicken soup without bread. I only have one oven. What should we do?"

Sammy looked over at his brother, back at Pastor Jim, then back to Dean again. "We should make the soup for Dean. He's sick."

"Are you sure?" Jim prompted. "Making soup means we can't have cupcakes."

Sammy simply nodded again. "I'm sure." Then the young boy asked, "What's Jewish? Daddy said to ask you."

"Well," Jim started, "that's a very, very complicated question."

John grinned evilly at his friend and put his cast foot back up on the coffee table. "I'd keep it simple, Jim, and start with: _In the beginning_…"

--888--

Dead kids got to him.

They always had.

As a top neurosurgeon, and later as a FBI psychological consultant, Mackland Ames had been taught to be detached and distanced. He had been trained to impersonally study human carnage and quickly and logically decide either a treatment course, or later, a profile for a possible suspect.

Most times he managed to do just that.

Except cases that involved kids.

Tonight, after seeing the worst that humanity could dish out for the last week, he needed to see Caleb's face. He wanted to listen to John grousing about Kool-Aid stains and how they never came out of anything. Hear Jim lecturing the boys about fighting. Stretch out by the fire and happily listen to Sammy chattering about his latest school assignment.

That was the reason Mac breathed a huge sigh relief when Jim's small farm came in to view.

Tonight he needed home.

Mac opened the kitchen door and a rush of warm immediately fell over him.

"Alright Samuel, Where was I?" Jim Murphy's patient voice came from the dinning room. "Oh yes, answering your question. Abraham had two children, Isaac and Ishmael. Isaac had another two children, Esau and Jacob. Jacob, however, would be the only son to carry forward his Grandfather Abraham's creed."

"You follow any of that, Kiddo?" John's bored voiced asked.

Mac's mouth quirked upward when he heard Sammy's baffled reply of, "No."

"Anyway," Jim continued, "Jacob…"

"Who was the biggest wussy on the face of the planet," John butted in.

Mac chuckled when he heard Jim retort sharply, "I was getting to that, Jonathan. And who's telling this story anyway?" Then the pastor called out, "Mackland feel free to join us whenever you're ready."

The next thing Mac knew he had a four-year old, blonde bundle of energy racing towards him at full speed. Sammy leapt in to his arms, and shouted, "Mac!"

Mac hugged the boy a little closer. "Hello, Samuel. Did I miss anything while I was away?"

"Dean's sick," Sammy informed him. "He had to go to the doctor today. At dinner Caleb explained how mummies were made. Did you know they pulled the brains out the nose with a hook? That was cool."

Mac sighed at his son's morbid streak. "How appetizing of him."

Sammy nodded. "Then Dean started talking about his report on the tactics Hannibal used to slaughter the Romans at the Battle of Cannae. Did you know Hannibal managed to kill one quarter of the Roman Senate in one battle?"

"Really?" Mac replied.

Sammy nodded. "Yup. Then Pastor Jim told them to cut it out because that was not polite conversation for the dinner table."

Mac smiled. "Pastor Jim was completely right."

"Before you walked in, Pastor Jim was trying to answer my question of what's Jewish," Sammy informed him. "And Daddy was making him mad."

"Your father does tend to have that affect on people," Mac replied as he put the little boy down. "Why don't you let me take my coat off and I'll join everyone at the table?"

"Okay," Sammy said eagerly as he wiggled out of Mac's arms.

"Dad," Caleb acknowledged warmly as Mac walked in.

John looked him up and down and slid a chair out. "Park it, Mac. You look like you're about to fall over."

Mac sat down in the offered chair. "Accurate enough."

Then John turned and addressed his oldest son, "Dean, time for bed. Go take your medicine and help Sammy get ready."

"Yes, Sir," Dean croaked out in a voice that was barely above a whisper.

"Do I have to?" Sammy whined. "Mac just got here. I wanted to show him my school project."

"Yes Samuel, now," Jim replied gently. "You can show Mac your school project in the morning."

Mac smiled at the eight year old. "How are you feeling, Dean?"

"I'm fine," the eight year old replied roughly. He rolled his eyes. "I wish they'd stop fussing."

As Dean got up from the table to collect Sammy, Mac took that moment to study Dean. The little boy looked miserable. The food on his plate was barely touched. A definite testament to how the eight year old was feeling. He had dark circles under his eyes and no voice. From where he was sitting, Mac saw the glands around the little boy's neck were swollen.

"You want any help holding the Runt down to use the soap tonight, Deuce?" Caleb asked his friend.

Dean shook his head. "I've got him. Help Pastor Jim settle the horses."

"Yeah, Yeah, I got it, Deuce." Caleb replied. Then the older hunter looked at Sammy. "Don't give your septic sibling a hard time, Runt."

John addressed Sammy. "What's our motto about soap?"

Sammy glared back and scowled. "If the soap isn't wet, you aren't finished yet."

John gestured towards the stairs with his head. "Yup. Now get your asses moving."

With a, "Come on, Sammy", the boys headed up stairs.

John eyed the stairs and shook his head. "That boy…"

"Is becoming more and more your mirror every day," Mac finished as Jim handed him a bowl.

John ran a tired hand over his face. "Don't remind me."

Mac served himself some soup. It smelled delicious. It took everything he had not to rip in to the food full steam.

"Dean must favor Mary." Jim added carefully. The pastor handed Mac a couple of large slices of bread.

"Yes and no. Sammy is the best and worst of Mary and me." John gave them a sad half smile. "Dean looks like Mary. Temperament wise, however, Dean favors my mother."

Mac spread some butter and honey onto the bread Jim handed him. His ears perked up in curiosity when John mentioned his mother. "Your mother was a leader in the Italian Resistance in World War II wasn't she?"

"She was?" Caleb asked curiously.

"Yeah, she was. She was considered quite brilliant when it came to guerrilla warfare." John replied in a soft tone. Then he glared at Jim. "I thought this was common knowledge since members of the Brotherhood found it fit to inspect my family tree to see if there is any 'tainted blood' flowing through my son's veins."

Caleb's eyes widened.

"John," Jim warned, "that's quite enough."

John's dark eyes flashed angrily. "No, I don't think it is."

"I do," Jim replied in a tone that left no room for argument. Then sensing this discussion was drifting in to dangerous territory the pastor changed the topic. Jim stood up and smiled at Caleb. "I believe it's time for me to see to the horses in for the night. Care to join me?"

The sixteen year-old nodded and went to quickly put his coat and shoes on.

"We will discuss this later, privately," Jim informed John matter-of-fact.

John stuck a stick of gum in his mouth. "Can't wait. You know where to find me."

Jim opened his mouth to retort and then snapped it shut. "Never mind. You're simply impossible sometimes."

John smiled. It was more baring of teeth. "If you say so. It's my charm."

Jim took a deep cleansing breath. Then he addressed Mac. "I'm leaving this grouch in your capable hands. If he goes anywhere other than that couch demand his coin for Dean. If you suddenly feel the undeniable urge to put him out of our misery, don't hold back on my account."

With that Jim stalked after Caleb.

Mac looked back and forth from Jim's retreating back to John. "Am I missing something?"

John shrugged. "I'm in trouble again."

A spoonful of soup stopped midway to Mac's mouth. "How is that unusual?" Then the doctor looked at his friend. "John, I apologize. I didn't know the topic of your mother made you uncomfortable. If I had known, I never would have brought it up."

"I know," John stated softly. A set of earnest dark eyes met his. "Can I ask you an honest question?"

Mac took a spoonful of his soup. "Of course."

"What the hell was Jim drinking when he appointed me Knight?" John truly looked baffled. "I'm nothing like Daniel."

"Points in your favor," Mac replied as he took a bit of bread.

"I'm not charming, politically correct, or diplomatic. I piss off members of the Brotherhood constantly."

The doctored grinned. "You keep life interesting. Jim loves every minute of it."

"I don't do sensitive," John grumbled. "Hell, I don't even do nurturing with the kids. When Junior starts with his woe-to-me, I'm-part-demon crap, I kick his ass. Then I tell him to suck it up, climb down off his cross, and use the wood to build a nice bridge to get-the-fuck-over-it because I don't want to hear it."

"And you have no idea how much my son adores you for it."

John rolled his eyes. "I showed up at Jim's door with what I could carry, a package of saltines, and two traumatized kids. Let's not forget, I came in hot with loads of trouble on my ass."

"Happy anniversary by the way," Mac informed him as the doctor took another spoonful of his soup. "And I think we've already touched established that you make life interesting."

"Tonight is the night I and the kids showed up on Jim's door isn't it?" John sighed, "I don't think I'm cut out for this Knight gig, Mac. I don't fit in with this good old boy's club."

"You fit a lot better than I do," Mac replied. He put his spoon down.

"That's what you think." John cleared his throat. "The other day I lost my temper with Griffin and suggested he remember to don his white hood before he had his goons show up at your and Junior's door to burn that cross."

Mac groaned. "Please tell me you didn't."

"I did," John replied cheerfully. "Porter went digging into my and Mary's families looking for 'tainted blood'. I lost my temper."

There was a scurrying at the stairs and suddenly Samuel's frightened form raced right toward them. "Mac!"

Mac scooped the boy in to his arms. "What is it, Samuel?"

"Dean's really sick! You need to come quick!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Warnings: **Againthis story mentions and reference events of WWII. It also contains some culturally sensitive words and themes. It also has religious references.

**Author's Notes for Chapter Two**:

The mention of Caleb being beaten is a direct reference to Tidia's story "Rites of Passage". I'm working from the slant Jim, John and Mac had a pretty good idea what really happened.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who Jim quotes here, was a German Pastor, arrested for participation in resistance activities against the Nazis. He was eventually executed on April 9, 1945 at Flossenbürg camp. The quote used is from Bonhoeffer's _Letters and Papers from Prison_ a collection of material he wrote while incarcerated.

**Military Notes:**

I'm referencing Jim being a sniper from Wings of the Phoenix. There are common misperceptions that Snipers are the 'lone wolves' of the battle field. They really aren't. They are generally always inserted in two man teams consisting of a "Shooter" and a "Spotter". Hence, Jim reference to Dean as his "Spotter". A Spotter in a sniper team looks through the scope and tells the shooter when to fire and in which direction to adjust the scope.

John's military service: Since it's the only way the timeline works with the rank John has been given in various sources. I'm making the assumption John finished up his active duty after Dean was born. With John completing his required years in the Reserves right before Mary was murdered.

I want to thank everyone for their kind reviews for chapter one.

To those of you that asked about Isis: Don't worry that's my next update.

* * *

"I want you to know John's little display at the dinner table had nothing to do with you," Jim stated as he walked in to the barn.

"Members of the Brotherhood investigated Winchester's family to make sure there were no Noah Seavers in Dean and Sam's family history didn't they?" Caleb asked softly as he scratched behind Sleipnir's soft velvety ears. The horse nudged his shoulder happily in welcome.

"Yes," Jim answered quietly. There was a cold edge of steel to his tone. "I'm afraid that's exactly what some of them did. John is not happy about having his privacy violated."

Caleb looked up and studied the barn's rafters for a few moments. He wasn't sure how he wanted the pastor to answer the next question. "Did they find anything unusual?"

"Would it really matter if they did?"

Caleb looked down and refused to meet Jim's eyes. "Hell no. Not to me." Then he looked up and laughed humorlessly. "Not like I can throw stones or anything."

"John's mother lost relatives to the Nazis when they took control of Italy in 1943." The pastor informed him quietly. "John finds the entire notion of 'tainted blood' ignorant and offensive. He saw people going through his family tree for that reason as dishonoring his murdered relatives' memories."

"That would explain why John was so pissed off."

"I think pissed-off is John Winchester's innate state," Jim grumbled under his breath as he walked towards a feed sack in the corner of the barn. "The only good that came out of the fiasco is the fact it didn't help my critics case that the Winchesters don't belong here."

"You know, John." Caleb shrugged. "Although his tough guy image really takes a beating when he runs away like a pansy from his silent, irate eight year-old. Blue crayon, Dean's new Red Sox jersey, hot dryer, I think you get the drift. It wasn't pretty."

"I bet." Then the pastor replied with a shake of his head. "John Winchester takes great pride in being objectionable enough without people taking issue with the blood flowing through his veins." The pastor shot him a pointed look. "An attribute you both seem to embrace."

"I suppose." Caleb replied. His shoulders slumped. "Though for some of us…"

Jim responded by throwing out a quote from Dietrich Bonhoeffer,

"_To talk about going down fighting like heroes in face of certain defeat is not really heroic at all, but a failure to face up to the future. The ultimate question the man of responsibility asks is not, How can I extricate myself heroically from the affair?, but, How is the coming generation to live? It is only in this way that fruitful solutions can arise . . . For it is their future which is at stake."_

The pastor studied him very carefully. "I'll ask you then. As men of responsibility, what should we teach the two children sleeping upstairs?"

"Jim…" Caleb began.

Jim raised his hand to silence the protest. "Should we instruct them the Nazis were correct when they kicked down the door one night and massacred their grandmother's family because of Jewish blood they refused to deny?"

"No. Of course not," Caleb injected without even thinking.

"Would you intervene if someone proclaimed 'Thou shall not suffer a witch to live' and decided to secure Dean to a stake and burn him because he has green eyes?" The pastor asked raising an eyebrow.

"Hell yes, I would," Caleb stated. "That's got to be one of the stupidest questions you ever asked me."

"Then how can we possibly teach the two children sleeping upstairs that it is acceptable for you to be singled out and assaulted because of who your grandfather _might _have been?" Jim pointed out quietly. "Dean would be the first to _loudly_ raise his voice against our hypocrisy. Then Samuel would follow his big brother's lead and effortlessly swoop in and pick our feeble logic apart."

"Okay, I see your point." Caleb ran a hand through his hair.

Jim's eyebrow lifted a little higher toward his hairline. "Do you? Humans have an amazing ability to segregate and butcher each other over irrelevant differences. And they are just that, Caleb, _irrelevant _differences. We are all human, no more, no less. Always remember that."

"Okay, you win," Caleb replied quietly. "I get it. Bad me. I'm human."

"Yes, you are," the pastor stated-matter-of-fact. "It's a pity that was too easy. I was just getting warmed up."

"I'd save your deviousness for our paintball games in the woods," Caleb grumbled. "I never stood a chance did I? You had me in your crosshairs from the very beginning and were simply waiting for me to meander down this particular path to pick me off."

"Of course," Jim replied cheerfully. "In some ways you are delightfully predictable. One reason why you keep walking in to Dean's brilliantly crafted ambushes."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"I would." The pastor gave him a smug look. "If you don't, you're going to continue coming home covered head-to-toe in paint. I don't know about my Spotter, but I will forever hold the memories of painting the Jarhead pink near and dear to my heart."

"That only proves you and Dean are both ruthless and evil. I'm starting to agree with John about not letting the two of you play together anymore." Caleb cleared his throat and lifted his chin stubbornly. "But I already told you it was a poltergeist. I wasn't beaten by anyone."

"Of course, how foolish of me, I keep forgetting," Jim said lightly. "My memory must be going. I keep scrambling the details of the hunt that put you in the hospital with an assault that had a completely dreadful cover story."

A skull- splitting sensation suddenly bashed in to the middle of Caleb's skull. The teenager grabbed his head. The world faded. Everything itched. He couldn't breath.

The next thing Caleb knew Jim's hands were on his shoulders. A concerned set of water-blue eyes met his as the pastor held him steady. "Caleb, are you all right?"

The sixteen year-old nodded. Then he shook his head to clear it and ground out, "There's something wrong. Dean."

"Pastor Jim!" Sammy busted in to the barn at a full, panic fueled run. "Mac told me to get you and for you to get the Church's medical kit."

Jim scooped the boy up before Sammy could plow in to him. "Samuel, stay calm and tell me what's wrong."

Sammy took a deep breath. "Dean's real sick. Mac wanted you to bring the church medical kit because it's where you keep Sarah Webster's epine… e…"

"Deep breath, Runt," Caleb said. He tried for soothing instead of panicked.

The little boy gave them a frustrated look and looked like he wanted to cry. "I can't say the word."

"Epinephrine?" Jim offered.

Sammy nodded. "That's it. Mac said to hurry."

Jim nodded and quickly started towards the house. "Now, Samuel, slowly, what's going on?"

"Dean took his medicine," Sammy began. "Then pretty soon after that he started itching and got a rash. Then his eyes and lips started swelling. I got scared. So I went and got Mac. Mac told us Dean was having a bad allergic reaction, probably to the penicillin. Then Mac ordered Dad to go call 911. I asked Mac if it was like Sarah Webster's reaction to peanuts. Her mom even gave you a special shot to carry with us when we go out with the youth group because Sarah could die if she even touches peanuts. Then Mac told me to go get you, and for you to bring the church's med kit with Sarah's shot."

"Anaphylaxis," Jim stated grimly. He put Sammy down. "I keep the pen kit in my office together with the rest of the youth group supplies. Stay with Sammy." Then the pastor bolted for the house at a full run.

Sammy and Caleb didn't exchange a word as they ran for house. Caleb shortened his longer stride to stay instep with the youngest Winchester.

"Will Dean be okay?" Sammy asked. A pair of frightened eyes met his.

"Dean will be fine. Dad's on the case." Caleb refused to think about the fact that Sarah Webster was only four and half Dean's size and weight.

They walked in the farm house and in to chaos.

"How many minutes out is that ambulance?" Mac asked urgently. They had Dean up on the now cleared kitchen table. The doctor had Dean's head tilted back as he attempted to keep the boy's airway open.

"Dispatch says at least fifteen, possibly closer to twenty," John replied holding the phone. "The ambulance is having trouble due to the slick roads. They can't get a Life-flight in the air either because of the damned weather."

"The ambulance is too far out," Mac stated. "Tell them we're securing the patient for transport and we'll meet them half way."

Caleb looked at his friend over his father's shoulder and wished he hadn't. Dean looked monstrous. His puffy face was all lips and eyelids. His face was so swollen his eyes were practically sealed shut. There was saliva dribbling down one side of his mouth.

Mac looked down at Dean. "How's the stomach?"

"A little better," Dean wheezed. What frightened Caleb was the whistling sound Dean was making as he took a breath.

The doctor nodded. "Dean, that shot we gave you wasn't enough to break this attack." By the expression on his father's face Caleb knew they'd only bought Dean some time. "Right now we're going to secure you to a back board. It will hold your head in to position to help you breath if you get tired. It's also a precaution in case the swelling moves down in to your vocal cords and I have to insert a tube down your throat to hold open your airway."

"Always…fun… times," Dean gasped out.

"Tell me about it," Mac replied tilting the struggling eight year-old's head back a little more. "The lengths you do for attention around here sometimes."

"You know. Middle…child…" Dean whispered.

Jim ran in carrying a backboard, towels, and duct tape.

Sammy stood there frozen watching the activity surrounding his brother. Afraid the little boy might get run over in all the chaos. Caleb grabbed the four year-old and gently yanked him out of the adults' way.

"Jim, help me lift Dean on to the board," Mac ordered.

The pastor nodded and positioned himself on the other side of Dean opposite from Mac.

"On three," the Doctor urged, "One, two, three." They lifted Dean up and gently laid him down on the board. Mac started positioning towels around Dean's head. The duct tape came next to secure the boy's head to the board. "How's the wooziness, Dean?"

"Not so good," the little boy rasped.

"Not surprising, your blood pressure is dangerously low. I need you to stay awake. You also should inform me immediately if you feel sick to your stomach again," Mac ordered calmly. The doctor grabbed a few more towels and elevated Dean's legs. "John what's our current ETA?"

"Dispatch confirms sixteen minutes," John replied grimly.

Mac threw Jim his keys, "Go bring my vehicle around."

Jim caught the keys and went running.

"John, relay to dispatch we're meeting the box at our designated rendezvous and ETA should change to eight minutes," the doctor continued. "The patient's reaction is wide-spread and his blood pressure is bottoming out quickly. We can't wait. Notify them to have epinephrine, diphenhydramine, and hydrocortisone ready for us when we get there."

John repeated what Mac said in to the phone. Then John replied, "Dispatch confirms."

Jim ran in, "I brought the car around."

"Good," Mac nodded. "Jim, help me load Dean in to the back seat. John, can climb in front." Jim grabbed the side of the board opposite from Dean.

John shook his head. Then without any hesitation, "I stay here with Sammy. Jim goes with you. He's EMT certified. In case you need to…" John took a deep breath. "Caleb can drive me and Sammy to the hospital. Now get moving."

Mac nodded. He turned to the pastor, "We lift on three."

"Understood," Jim nodded.

On the count of three both men lifted the board.

"How are you doing down there Dean?" Mac asked smoothly.

"Not so good," Dean wheezed weakly. Caleb could hear the whistling deep in Dean's lungs was getting worse. "Things I need… to do… for a new Red Sox's jersey."

Not even losing a step as they made they're way with the board towards the door. The doctor raised an eyebrow. "Well, your father is notoriously cheap. What happened to the one you got for your birthday?"

"Blue crayon," Dean gasped, "Dad. Dryer."

"Really? That's awful. How about I buy you a nice New York Yankees one to replace it?" Mac replied. The doctor and Jim carefully angled Dean out the back door towards the waiting vehicle.

"Rag," Dean panted weakly, "Impala."

"Nothing Yankee is ever touching my car," John grumbled. Then he ran a soothing hand through Dean's hair as he hobbled along side of them. "Ace, you're brother and I will be following right behind you. Your job is to stay awake and list off to Mac all the reasons the Yankees suck. Understood?"

The boy nodded weakly, as the whistling noise became even louder.

Jim and Mac picked up the pace. Once they had Dean down the few back steps, they practically ran towards the waiting vehicle.

John closed the back door as the tail lights disappeared down the road. He took a deep, centering breath. Then John barked out, "Samuel".

His father's voice broke Sammy out of his daze. The little boy blinked owlishly, "Sir?"

"Sammy, go get dressed. Next, pack a bag for your brother and yourself." John ordered calmly. "Assume they're going to be admitting Dean tonight and we might be staying in town for a couple of days. Now go."

"Yes, Sir," Sammy replied with a nod. The four year-old went running.

"You want me to pack a bag for you?" Caleb asked.

"Yeah, and Jim too," John replied. "I don't even think your father had a chance to unpack. I need to find…my…crutches." Then he muttered something obscene under his breath as he looked around. Next John ran a wobbly hand over his face. "Eight minutes out. Fuck."

"Deuce will be fine." Caleb stated with confidence.

Any other ending was absolutely unthinkable.

--888--

The hospital nursery was the last place Mac had even thought to look for his friend.

John Winchester never ceased to surprise him.

"John?" Mac asked gently as he approached.

"If you're here to ask me any stupid questions like: Are you alright," John stated quietly. His dark eyes never left the glass window and the new lives behind it. "Don't even bother."

Mac ran a weary hand over his face. God, he was tired. The hospital's plastic lounge devices of torture were starting to look soft and inviting. "Jim sent me to get you. They are preparing to move Dean up in to ICU soon. We figured you'd want to be there."

John turned from the window and positioned his crutches so he was facing Mac.

Mac crossed his arms over his chest. "I know that look. I'm about to tell you the exact same thing I told Jim and Caleb. Dean had an extreme anaphylactic episode, in other words, a severe Type I, allergic reaction. It was most likely triggered by the penicillin he took orally. Stop blaming yourself for this. There's no way any of you could have prevented it."

"So the kid-faced, ER doctor informed me. Dean's not responding like they hoped to the medications. He also told me, due to the major organ involvement, they need to keep Dean on the ventilator for twenty for hours to see how well he reacts," John stated flatly.

"So listen to me then, John," Mac stated. "This was not your fault. There was no way you could have seen this coming or protected Dean from it."

Sometimes guilt was completely ridiculous and irrational.

"You ever wonder what this jobs cost us, Mac" John asked quietly. "I mean really cost us? I do. I look at my boys, see them growing up with out me, and I wonder if it's worth it."

"Sometimes," Mac answered honestly.

"I still remember the day I got my first look at Ace. I looked down at this squirming, howling bundle and panicked. Not even enemy fire was as scary as knowing I was now responsible for protecting and molding this fragile, little life." John shot him a dry grin that didn't make it to his eyes. "I almost handed Dean back to Mary and bolted. Then Ace looked up at me and smiled. From that moment, I never wanted to put him down."

Mac nodded in understanding. "I still remember the day I signed the adoption papers for Caleb. It just suddenly hit me I was a parent. It was the happiest and scariest thing I've ever done in my life. I still wonder if I was completely out of my mind signing those papers."

"Being out of your mind is a prerequisite for being a parent," John responded thoughtfully. "Kids disappoint you. They drive you crazy. Scare you to death and test you in every conceivable way until you have one last nerve left. Then they do something so amazing it takes your breath away. You look in to their eyes and you see the person you want to be. That's the moment you remember why you love every minute of the madness."

"Please remind me of that the next time Caleb manages to get himself expelled." Mac rolled his eyes. "Lately, all I've wanted to do is throttle him."

"I was hardly home for the first two years of Dean's life. You know that?" John informed him sadly. "I was still on active duty with the Corps. The day Dean was born, I was a prisoner in some bum-fuck, Central American hell hole."

Mac put his hand on his friend's shoulder. "Sammy is scared and needs his father right now."

"I know," John replied. "I just needed some time alone to put on my 'dad' face."

Mac squeezed his shoulder. "I understand. Come to us whenever you're ready."

"Yeah, I will," John whispered after his friend had left. Once again looking in on the nursery he muttered under his breath, "Dean not responding to medication. Not like, we haven't been here before."


	3. Chapter 3

**Warnings: **This story mentions and reference events of WWII. It also contains some culturally sensitive words and themes. It also has religious references.

**Author's Notes for Chapter Three**:

**WASP**- White Anglo-Saxon Protestant

**WOP**- Short for 'Without Papers'- It's a derogatory slang term for Italians.

**Dino**- Italian for Dean. Pronounced: Dee-no

**Ave Caesar, morituri te salutamus- "**Hail, Caesar; we who are about to die salute you."

**John's cooking**- References Sammy stating John could barely operate a toaster oven in the pilot episode.

**Jim's hall closet of doom**- Is a little bow to T's story, "God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman". Mac in that story went digging in Jim's hall closet and ended up getting knocked cold when something fell on his head. That story implied our Merlin might be a wee bit of pack-rat. I'm having a little fun with it.

**Dean finding a broadsword-** Clichéd, I know. But I simply could not help myself.

**For all of you that asked about Isis-** I know. I know. I promised it as my next update. Don't ask. I'm starting to think this next chapter is cursed. Does anyone have some good HooDoo they can send its way?

* * *

**Lawrence Kansas - 1984 **

_Thus says the LORD, "Let My people go, so that they may serve ME." - Exodus 8:20_

"Dean's not responding to his medications."

"You don't think I know this?" John Winchester fought down the urge to throw a pill bottle across the kitchen at Mark Wallace, his brother-in-law. "You can not force me to lock Dean away in a private hospital."

"Yes, I can." Mark replied matter-of-fact.

With blonde hair and winter blue eyes, Mary's half-brother, was a handsome man. He resembled Mary's father. The fact that Connor, Mary's dad, had refused to acknowledge Mark as his son had to be one of jokes of the universe in John's humble opinion. Not only was Mark the spitting image of the old bastard but he carried that same privileged, WASP mind-set that drove John crazy.

John looked down at the long line of Dean's prescription bottles lined up on the table. How in the hell did one pill turn into ten? John didn't know. The months since Mary's death were nothing but an unfocused blur. All his energy and purpose directed at merely putting one stumbling foot in front of the other and getting through one more day.

"I picked up some brochures for some private hospitals," Mark began quietly. "I want you to look them over. I know how you feel about this. However, I want you to think of what Mary would want."

John blinked in disbelief. "Do you really think Mary would want us to do _this_?"

"Dean needs more help than you can give him, John." Mark's wintry blue eyes met his.

"You're so wrong," John stated quietly. "Being taken away from Sammy is the worst possible thing we could do right now. Sammy is the only person Dean is responding to. Sammy is the only thing anchoring Dean here."

"I am not wrong about this," Mark replied. "For Christ Sake, Dean hasn't said a word in three months. When the boy does sleep, he's clawing himself bloody at night with his nightmares. He draws pictures of people cut open and bleeding. Dean needs help. If you fight me on this, Kate and I will go to court. And we will win."

"Of course you will," John stated coldly. "Judge Wilson is your golf buddy and his wife serves on town council with Kate. It doesn't matter. I am going to get a lawyer."

"Go ahead. You know you won't win,"

John knew Mark didn't like him.

Never had.

John had hit the bias enough to actually wonder if it was _him_ Mark had issue with or the lineage floating around in his veins. Throw them back twenty or so years and John was positive Mark would have been a proud member of a country club that would have had 'No Jews or Colored Persons Allowed' posted up smugly on the front gates. It was how Mark looked down at Dean at times, or how he made excuses for Dean's facial features that didn't quite fit Mary's to his friends. The upward, cat-like slant to Dean's eyes was a rather blatant reminder that John wasn't all white bread.

"Are you really trying to help Dean?" John demanded softly. "Or are you punishing the stupid WOP for not being able to save your sister that night?"

Mark shrugged. "Honestly? Maybe a little of both."

John gestured towards the rows of pill bottles on the table. "You want to know what Dino needs?" John felt a small gleam of satisfaction as he watched his brother-law flinch at Dean's name in Italian. "Dean needs off all these damned pills. They're only making him worse. Hell, he's developed a twitch." John picked up a bottle. "This one is to help battle the depression and withdraw. The little blue ones are to counter the effects of the antidepressants that make him anxious and won't let him sleep. Every time we go to that quack we come back with more pills."

"Dr. Harrison is highly respected in his field. He feels it would be in Dean's best interest for him to stay at a private hospital. There they can give Dean much more intensive one-on-one therapy."

John closed his eyes. "Well, the quack is wrong. We send Dean away and it's over. My little boy will never come home. He'll just fade away."

"Read over the brochures," Mark insisted. "Once you narrow it down to two or three places, we can go tour them together."

"I am not going to let you do this." John stated softly, deadly like a cold Arctic wind.

"You don't have any choice. Fight me on this and I will take the boys from you," His brother-in-law stated matter of fact as he headed towards the door of the hotel room. As Mark slowly closed the door he added over his shoulder "This is for Dean's own good, John. You need to believe that."

Grabbing an empty pill bottle off the table John let it fly at the now closed door. He watched in passing contentment as the bottle smashed against the door and the lid went flying off.

He was not letting them take Dean away.

No way in hell.

He'd fight the bastards with everything he had.

It was Sammy's sudden howling that sent him in to the other room. The baby's cry was different, more urgent.

Something was wrong.

"Dean?" He called softly to the second figure sleeping in the crib. Dean had climbed in to the crib again. From across the room, Sammy was waving his hands and feet, and wailing at the top of his lungs. Dean, on the other hand, was completely still. When no response came from the older boy John reached in and scooped the motionless five year-old up. "Ace? Can you hear me? Come on kiddo, wake up."

Sammy howled harder.

"Dean!" John said more urgently as he gently shook the fragile, still child in his arms. He was moments from reaching the phone to call 911 when flickers of green eyes met his. John sighed in relief and laid his forehead against Dean's. Face the fact John muttered, "Thank God. Don't do that to me again. I don't think your old man's heart could take it."

Dean blinked owlishly for a few moments. His head jerked. Then he squirmed out of his father's arms, and headed straight towards Sammy in the crib. The boy groggily reached his arm in and Sammy grabbed his fingers and stopped crying. Dean had only eyes for the baby in the crib.

John asked Dean, "You want me to lift the Rug-rat out?"

Dean didn't respond. The little boy didn't even look at him. Dean had once again withdrawn in to his own little icy world. It was a world where the only person that existed was Sammy.

"Come on, Dean," John begged. "Do you want me to take Sammy out of the crib? Please just look at me and nod. Let me know you recognize I'm here."

The five year old didn't react or meet his eyes.

* * *

Caleb Reaves covered his face with his hands and slunk down lower in the hospital lounge chair. He wished he could melt in to the floor about right now. The teen shot the very pretty nurse that walked past a reassuring, I-am-so-not-with-these-crazy-people smile.

He loved his family and friends.

After years in the foster care system Caleb counted himself damned lucky to have them.

He knew they were worried about Deuce.

But still…

Why did they always do _this_ in hospital waiting rooms?

"What do you mean we should remodel my kitchen?" Jim Murphy huffed. "This nesting phase of yours, Mackland, has gotten out of hand."

"I only suggested we look in to the option," Mac replied coolly. "And I am not 'nesting' as you so delicately put it.

'Look in to the option' in Mac talk, Caleb knew, meant the doctor had already hired the architect, had the plans drawn out, and had several bids on the job already.

"There is _nothing_ wrong with my kitchen," Jim insisted. "So keep your organizing instincts away from my house."

"Jim, you're a packrat."

"I am not. You just never know when you might need something," Jim countered.

Mac rolled his eyes. "Ignoring the fact your kitchen pantry is a speculated gateway to other dimensions because once something is placed in it, it's never seen again. The kitchen overall is dated, cramped, and inefficient for the number of people that typically use it."

"Ah, come on, Mac," John chimed in. "The kitchen has mystery and character."

"So does a black hole," Mac replied dryly.

"Would you believe, I found a shrunken head in that pantry once," John added matter-of-fact. "Going in there is like going to the carnival without have to pay for it. You just never know what you might find or walk out with."

Jim turned and glared at John. "Are you done?"

Sammy looked up at his father. "I found a crystal ball and Dean found a broadsword. We were looking for the chocolate chips."

Caleb smirked at Jim. "And you claim you don't know where Excalibur is hidden."

"I have no idea how those items got in there." Jim looked sheepish. "I blame Robert." Then he crossed his arms over his chest. "As for you John Winchester, when was the last time you _even_ stepped foot in my kitchen."

"Dean grounded Daddy from the kitchen after he nearly burned the farm down," Sammy informed the pastor helpfully. "That's why Daddy hung the big picture on the kitchen wall for you."

"I love kids. They share everything." John muttered under his breath. "Communicable diseases. Detail for detail what you shouldn't have done."

Sammy blinked at his father confused. "But you said the picture would hide the hole and the scorch marks."

"_Ave Caesar, morituri te salutamus_," John muttered at Jim's murderous expression.

"Only if any of us are forced to eat your cooking," Mac deadpanned.

John responded to Mac with a one-figured gesture for that comment. Next he shot Jim an indignant look. "The last time I was allowed in the kitchen I tried to play nice and make coffee for Tricky Dicky."

"Excuse me?" Jim glared, "You handed Harland a jar of instant coffee and a spoon."

"This is why kitchen rhymes with 'bitchin'," John grumbled. "Sawyer is such a pussy. I can't believe he actually whined for hot water."

"Oh, the nerve," Jim replied sarcastically.

"Okay where were we, Kiddo?" John turned his attention back to his youngest son. "Oh yes… _Do you like green eggs and ham? I do not like them, Sam-I-am._"

"You're not reading it right," Sammy informed his father. "You need to make the voices and the faces like Dean does."

John took a deep breath. You could tell the man was digging for patience. "Tonight is _not_ the night. Okay Sammy?"

"See, I told you," Mac turned to Jim. "The kitchen does need a remodel. Then we can start on the hall closet of doom."

Sammy looked over at Mac. "Can we get two ovens for the kitchen? That way we can make bread and cupcakes at the same time." Then he looked at his father. "I think Santa likes cupcakes better than cookies."

"I spawned such adorable little jackals." John grumbled.

Mac's lip twitched. "Peter called them 'Children of the Corn'".

"Oh, can Peter come back to play with us again?" Sammy asked his father happily. "He was fun."

"Jackals I'll give him." John shot Mac an offended look. "But devil-spawned, Children of the Corn? Absolutely not. The fact that Dean and Sammy managed to tie Peter up and gag him only goes to show the Brotherhood needs better training. Junior could have slipped those knots in his sleep."

Sammy chewed on his lip. Then he looked at his father and asked, "Dad, is Dean going to be okay?"

All activity in the hospital lounge suddenly stopped.

"I hope so, Sammy," John replied quietly.

Caleb knew as he studied the adult's guarded expressions.

It was going to be a long night.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Notes for Chapter Four**:

The reference to John having an older brother is in the story "It's What You Do". In Rid's story John's deceased older brother was never named, and it was never explained what happened to him. I took liberties.

The story about John not knowing about his mother's first family until after she was dead, I based on numerous real life stories on Holocaust survivors. It was only until very recently that Holocaust survivors really started stepping forward to tell their stories.

**Military Notes:**

POW (Prisoner of War) /KIA (Killed in Action) bracelets: If you'd like to learn the history of this particular military tradition, why they're worn and its ties to the Vietnam War please go here. You can also find lots of other interesting information on other subjects like the tradition of leaving offerings at The Wall.

The Wall: For any Non-American readers that's a common nickname for the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in D.C.

Jim's sniper career: Since the Army didn't officially reopen its sniper school until 1968-1969. I'm assuming Jim was a Green Beret. Placing Jim in the 5th, the unit that President Kennedy personally reactivated in 1961, is me once again taking liberties.

Ghillie Suits: These are the camouflage suits you commonly see Snipers wear. Every one of them is personally hand-made and woven depending on what environment the sniper is in.

Recon: Short for Force Recon- That's the USMC equivalent of the SEAL's.

* * *

"_And if your son asks you in the future, saying, What are the testimonies, and the statutes, and the judgments, that the Lord our God commanded you? You will say to your son, We were slaves to Pharaoh in Egypt; and the Lord brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand. _-Deuteronomy 6:20-23

**Lawrence Kansas - 1984 **

Hanukkah

The Festival of Lights

It had always been one of his mother's favorite holidays. Hanukkah was considered a lower Jewish holiday, but his mother had still loved it. Had always whispered to him and his older brother it was a celebration of hope. A proclamation that you believed simple miracles happened every day.

There still were days John Winchester when he closed his eyes he saw his mother's proud, fine face. He could still picture in his mind's eye her expressive green-blue eyes as she studied him. Feel as she pulled him in to her warm embrace. Hear her soft voice whisper softly, 'Giovanni, have faith. Evil shouts. God whispers.'

He still marveled his mother found the strength to feel that way knowing what she had lost in the flaming plumes of machine gun fire. It had been only after his mother's death John had found the pictures of the half brother and sister he never knew. Pictures and memories of his mother's first life, of a family, in a far away country locked away and never spoken of.

It was funny how he thought of his mother when his mind drifted towards Dean. Maybe it was because Dean had always reminded John so much of her. There had always been so much life and music around his mother. Some of his earliest memories was of her singing as she made bread in the morning. From the time Dean had been old enough to recognize a music beat, John remembered how his lively, energetic little boy would sing or get up and dance with his grandmother every time music was played. How Dean had managed to bring a smile to his mother's last days.

A smile only his older brother Matt had ever managed to coax out of her before.

He looked down at his brother's KIA bracelet on his wrist.

Matt, another piece of his soul lost.

Brought home in a flag draped coffin and a cold name on The Wall.

Mary killed in a burning pillar of fire.

Now Dean….

John simply didn't know if he had the strength to keep going if he lost Dean now too.

He had seen evil's shouts as his wife burned on the ceiling. He had smelt its aroma with the ungodly smell of his wife's burning flesh. He had heard its echoes in his oldest boy's silence. Now he prayed to God, a creator he wasn't sure he believed in, for a simple whisper.

John Winchester didn't believe in miracles anymore.

Hell, all he had managed to light was a single candle in his mother's honor this year.

That was pretty much all the hope he had anymore.

John looked at his tired, haggard reflection in the Impala's review mirror as he checked on his two sleeping children in the back seat. God, he hated Dr. Harrison. He dreaded every damned appointment with Dean's psychiatrists. Today's appointment had gone as well as he expected with the doctor once again insisting on him admitting Dean to a private facility and John saying no. The cheerful, bright doctor's office somehow resembled some twisted mirror image of his life. John loathed how it reminded him of how much he'd lost that night of the fire.

How every instinct he possessed screamed at him to take Dean and Sammy and keep on driving.

And God, he hated that feeling too.

The way his stomach would clench up every time he walked in to this office. How the ugly taste of coppery fear would creep in to his mouth. His feeling that evil dwelled right below the cheerful doctor's office facade. It made John feel like he couldn't even trust his own instincts anymore.

It made him feel crazy.

Crazier than even the suspicious whispers of the neighbors behind his back or the pitying glances they shot his son when they didn't think he was looking.

John didn't need to guess what the neighbors thought.

That was mirrored in his brother-in-law's eyes.

They thought he had killed his wife and set the fire to cover the murder.

The thing was every night he woke up to the feel of blood and screaming his wife's name as she burned suspended on the ceiling.

And John wasn't sure the neighbors weren't right.

* * *

John had been let in to the ICU briefly to visit with Dean.

He wished he hadn't.

Looking at his lively, vigorous little boy among all the flickering and beeping equipment had almost been enough to undo the 'Dad' mask he had slid in to place for Sammy. Dean looked awful. His little boy had resembled some puffy bloated corpse, not anything human.

That had scared him.

Mac's bleak face when he read Dean's chart had scared him even more.

It had taken all the will-power John had not to cave in to his instincts, snatch Dean up out of that bed and run.

Mac had been hovering behind him ever since. His best friend didn't do the 'don't worry, things will be okay' comfort thing well. That was fine with him. John didn't do it very well either. It was one thing that made their friendship work.

"If you wanted vanilla ice-cream why didn't you order vanilla ice-cream?" Caleb Reaves' voice grumbled at four year old Sammy across the table. The hospital's twenty-four hour snack bar was virtually deserted at this time of night. John shook his head as he hobbled in to the snack area. Caleb and Sam, stubborn, tired, and worried, could make his stubborn, argumentative streak look down right reasonable.

Jim was crocheting.

That was not good.

It was an anxious habit from Jim's old sniper days. The days where the only thing that stood between Jim and being killed or captured behind enemy lines was how well Jim wove camouflage in to his Ghillie suit. How skilled he was at hiding in plain sight. A majority of Jim's military record was still highly classified, even today. Not even John's RECON contacts could tap it. But the moment John had seen how adeptly Jim's skilled fingers could weave or crochet that had told him all he needed to know about what unpleasant tasks Jim had been called to perform in the line of duty to his country.

If Jim was crocheting….

Sam and Caleb were getting on his last nerve.

Sam looked up from his ice-cream and shot Caleb a look he usually reserved only for 'yucky' girl cooties. "I wanted chocolate chip."

"You're picking the chocolate chips out," Caleb pointed out to him bluntly. "Without the chips it's plain vanilla ice-cream."

Jim Murphy tiredly looked up from what he was working on. "Boys," he snapped, "I know your both worried about Dean but this is not the time or the place."

Sammy lifted his chin stubbornly at Caleb. "I wanted chocolate chip."

Caleb pinched his nose, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. "Try to have your little OCD ass follow me here, Sammy. You're picking the chips _out_. It's vanilla ice cream without the chips."

The pastor glared at both of them. "Boys…"

Sammy glared at Caleb. "I don't like you. I want Dean. You're mean."

"Right now, I'm not all that found of you either, Runt," Caleb replied snidely.

"When Dean gets better. I'm going to tell him how you were mean to me."

Caleb snorted, "Go ahead. I'll tell him what type of brat you were."

"Enough," Jim barked. "Both of you."

Caleb gave the pastor an exasperated look. "Hey! Sammy started it."

"Samuel's four and it's past his bed time." The pastor shot Caleb an irritated look that had sent more than one grunt running in his Army days. "What's your excuse?"

Caleb opened his mouth to reply when John decided it might be a good time to intervene, "Sammy, what have I told you about screwing with Junior's head?"

Sammy shot his ice-cream and then Caleb a sideways look. "I shouldn't do it. Caleb's only got one, maybe two, good hits to the head in him. He doesn't have the brain cells to spare."

Caleb smiled sweetly at John as he hobbled over to their table on his crutches. Mac followed behind him. "Despite all you say, I know you like me."

John rolled his eyes as he and Mac took a seat at the table. "Whatever delusions get you, through the night there, Junior."

"Hi Mac," Sammy greeted the doctor. "Did I tell you I did my school project on dinosaurs? Dean helped me. The word dinosaur comes from two Greek words deinos, meaning "terrible" and sauros, meaning "lizard". They're just like real life dragons. The study of dinosaur bones is called Paleontology. Did you know that?"

John sighed. Caleb looked like he wanted to start hitting his head off the table. John had a feeling in the coming weeks he was going to learn more about dinosaurs than he ever imagined possible.

Mac's mustache twitched. "As a matter of fact I did."

"I want to be a paleontologist and study mass extinctions when I grow up," The four year-old announced matter of fact. "My teacher gave me a gold star for the dinosaur tooth I and Dean made." Sammy pouted, "Not like Dean's teacher that freaked over the head he brought in."

All eyes at the table suddenly shifted to John.

Jim and Mac both lifted an eyebrow.

"Don't look at me," he growled. John's back stiffened at his friends questioning looks. "Last salt and burn all body parts were accounted for." Then he turned and asked his youngest calmly, "Sam, what head?" Someone was not passing on his memos.

"A Spartan King," Sammy informed him. Then the four year-old bit his lip. "Dean told me but I don't remember his name."

John raised an eyebrow, shifted his casted foot, and offered "Leonidas?" Dean's love of the Greek warrior culture, especially their sly dry wit, was well known. He just wished Dean would stop embracing the Spartan ideal of playing the part of moron to gain an advantage with such gusto.

Sammy nodded. "That's it. I don't know why Dean's teacher got girly about it, Dad. It's not like Dean made the blood gush. Dean said the Persians beheaded Leonidas after he was already dead. Who's Leonidas?"

"Damn I forgot. I need to call their school." John rubbed his forehead. "And he's nobody, Sammy, just some Spartan King that saved Western Civilization."

Caleb suddenly shot John an innocent butter-wouldn't-melt look. It was a look John knew he'd be kicking Caleb's ass for later. "Hey Sammy, did anyone tell you about how the Jewish people celebrate this wonderful holiday called Hanukkah?"

Sammy blinked at Caleb, baffled at the change in topic. "No."

"Junior," John snarled, "Don't you dare. Or Sammy's going to see an extinction event up close and personal tonight."

Ignoring his mentor the teenager plowed right ahead gleefully, "It's like Christmas but only better. Hanukkah has eight nights of gifts instead of just one."

Sammy looked big-eyed from his father to Caleb and back again. Then he turned to Mac, "Is this true?"

Mac nodded. "Yes it is."

Then Sammy asked, "And Dad's Jewish?"

"Ethnic. I'm not a practicing anything." John growled.

Mac grinned at John then nodded at Sammy again. Despite the circumstance it was amusing to see John squirm. "Yes, your grandmother was Jewish and that does technically make your father Jewish."

"They refuse to claim me," John countered, "Ask Goldberg."

Jim shot John a disdainful look. "Leave poor Peter out of this."

"Hey, I was in a pinch and I needed a babysitter" John grumbled. "Peter IS a fully trained hunter of the Brotherhood. I thought he could handle them. I advised him not to turn his back on my two little fiends for a minute. Did Peter listen? Nope. Not my fault he didn't take my recommendation to secure a position with his back to the wall and wait for reinforcements to arrive."

Ignoring his father Sammy looked at Pastor Jim, "And Hanukkah is like Christmas?"

"No it's not, "John jumped in before the Pastor could reply. "Christmas is a pagan holiday that the early Christian church couldn't snuff out so they absorbed it. It's nothing like Hanukkah. And don't even get me started on the icon of modern commercialism and greed that is Santa Claus."

Jim shot John an amused look over his coffee. This was an old rant. Samuel had managed to latch on to the one aspect of the Christmas holiday John absolutely loathed. "John stop being silly. Christmas is Jesus' birthday. That's why Santa gives gifts to all the good little boys and girls."

Sammy nodded solemnly. "Yeah, Dad, stop being silly, or Santa will bring you coal in your stocking again."

"I hate to break it to you, Runt," Caleb snickered, "but I'm pretty sure your old man is on Santa's permanent naughty list."

Thinking of Dean and needing something to do with his restless fingers the Knight suddenly pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.

Jim's eyes narrowed. "I thought I cut you off."

"You did." Then the Knight smiled evilly at his protégé as he lit one up. He took certain amount of satisfaction from Jim's nose crinkling. Get back was a bitch. "I filched these from Junior."

Mac head snapped around. He looked at his son and asked, "Oh really?"

"If it makes you feel any better," John added in sweetly, "These wussie things really are all filter and taste like ass."

"Knowing you're going to lift them," Caleb growled. "I'll be sure to pick up the off brand, in the black box, named 'Tumors' next time."

John grinned dryly at Caleb. "Please do. Next time try to hide the porn stash a little better too. It was no challenge to find."

Mac shot Caleb 'THE' look. "We'll discuss this later."

Sammy suddenly looked up at father. "When can Dean come home?"

All eyes at the table looked in John's direction again.

He grabbed the ash tray from the center of the table, knocked off the ash from his cigarette, and then took another long puff. He had been dreading this question. Sammy was just too damned smart and insightful for his own good sometimes. "Hopefully, with no complications, your brother can come home in a couple of days."

This time it was Caleb's gold eyes that narrowed. "What do you mean with no complications?"

John hated kids.

Especially sharp ones.

Mac cleared his throat. Then he started spinning his silver ring around on his finger. "It means that barring no rebound reaction tonight. This episode itself, and the cocktail mix they gave Dean to counter it, left his immune system extremely depleted. It could cause complications with the Streptococcus infection Dean currently is fighting."

Out of the corner of his eye John caught Dean's anxious doctor making his way quickly towards their table. "Mr. Winchester may I speak with you?"


End file.
